Lies
by scorpsifer
Summary: "I love him. He loves someone else. Someone who is not me. And it doesn't matter. Every day I gave to him; I gave everything to everyone and every morning I would wake up with nothing. They say I love too much. Maybe they're right."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

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I love him, but he's in love with someone else. Someone who is not me.

And it doesn't matter.

Because my best friend says she likes him. Rules are rules. I cannot touch him. Because she said it first.

But she doesn't know that I already have.

As all our friends gather around and giggle in shear excitement about how my best friend and _him_ would be such a cute couple, I force a smile and play along. They will never know I am burning inside.

But none of it matters, even the fact that I love him. It doesn't matter that even though I had just spent one of the best nights of my existence with him, gave him everything I was and had to offer, he resented me the next morning. By throwing at me my clothes and ushering me out of his room.

I ran down the hall, fully clothed, hiding my disheveled tears and utter shame, down the stairs and past the students' questioning eyes.

All the giggles and playfulness are gone now. He doesn't flick my ear, nor does he tickle me with teasing nicknames. He has moved his seat, nonchalantly, to the other side of the classroom. I don't want to look up at him and see his eyes, or worse, see the back of his head; knowing he is avoiding me.

I doesn't matter, though does it?

Because I love him. She likes him. He's _in love_ with someone else. Someone who is not me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

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In our highly top rated boarding school in the state, we are taught that anything strongly intimate before marriage is a sin. PDA in the hallways is not easily tolerated. Boy's and Girl's dorms are segregated, on each end of the campus. At lunch, our chairs must be a foot apart from one another; there shall be no physical touching other than a platonic relation.

They treat love like a disease.

They treat physical attraction like a disease.

They treat warming smiles like a disease.

Maybe they are.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

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My best friend and her best friend ask if I want to sit with them at lunch, as if I don't normally, and I say _okay._

They sit next to each other, leaving me to take the oddly fitted chair across from them; they look dazzling next to each other. I feel fetal compared.

My best friend is tall, with long legs and chestnut hair. It's natural. She's thin.

Her best friend has long silvery hair, which is always pinned back. Always. Her body has as much as curves as an hour glass figure and every knows it too. Except for her. The only person she doesn't wear frumpy sweaters in front of is her secret boyfriend. I am the only one who knows about them. Even my best friend doesn't know.

It was not involuntary information. I caught her kissing her boyfriend in the cafeteria when she thought it was empty.

I nibble on my food because it is the normal thing to do.

_He_ approaches the cafeteria entryway. I don't need to look up as I feel his presence become stronger and stronger. I have grown into this sixth sense before I knew how much I would need it in the end. Without me looking, I go unnoticed by my best friend.

Her eyes lift and then quickly returns to her food.

I can tell he wants to sit at our table, because this is normal. But he falters, then grabs a tray; with his food, he gathers at another table.

He does this because of me.

I am a disease.

My best friend heaves a hefty sigh.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

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To us three girls, no one has been kissed. This is because I cannot speak of my uninvited appearance in the cafeteria that one Sunday afternoon; silvery hair wrapped up in the hands of one of my elementary friends.

This is also because no one knows I have more than bent the line of transgression. I have been tangled in it, ran straight through to the other side.

My best friend does not have a secret of her own. This I know because she cannot keeps secrets to herself. This is why a relieved sigh was heaved that Sunday afternoon because it was _me_ walking in, and not my best friend.

But according to us three girls, _none_ of us have been kissed. Or touched.

We each have, in the past, expressed our feelings towards the want and desire we felt about being kissed. How soft the lips would feel pressed against our own, how the strong beat of the heart would feel pressed against our own chest. What we wondered, what we dreamed about... was excusable at the time, for we were all innocent.

I look at my hands now, and feel dirty. I don't talk about my desires any more. Because they are forbidden. They go passed the act of kissing and touching. And I have done them all.

My gaze shifts to _him_ because it is normal. My best friend knows this, and so does her best friend. We all have known _him_ in this school for a while now and we are friends. This is normal.

But our eyes meet, green and brown, and he holds it fiercely. It's the first time he has looked my way in two weeks. It is harsh and full of hatred, but it is something. It matters.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

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I am not fat, but I am not skinny either. My collar and hip bones are present not prominent and I cannot fit into my best friend's clothes. My eyes are brown, like my mother's and father's. Silver is not my hair, nor is it chestnut.

Mine is wavy and dark; long and inexcusably passed the limit of our dress code. My breasts bare no shame of their dark curtains.

Though we giggle and though we play, rules of school conduct were never broken. Because _he_ was never attracted to me. On days of the week, I would walk up to him and smile. What would he do? _He_ would laugh and mutter to his friends about _Who is this girl?_ And _Why is she talking to me?_ I would nibble on my hair as I would walk away.

In private corners, he would tug at my hair or blow on my cheek. _Sorry_ was never apart of our conversation, though we have many; public appearances were clipped.

_He_ does not like to talk to me in front of his friends, but talks to me in front of my friends because it is normal. In class, when no one is watching, whispered words and light touches were all there was. And it doesn't matter. Because I love him, though he may love someone else, he loves me too. At least, this is what I thought.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

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The girl with fiery red hair that matches her persona is a girl in the back corner of the lunch room. She has a body built for a goddess and never lacks manners _or_ sarcasm. The wear of her hair is straight, and the style of her clothes is appropriate to the school uniform. Silvery long and chestnut and I, wavy dark, never forget to expand our wardrobe to the colorful shoes on our feet to the expensive sweaters we wear at our shoulders. But fiery red's are always better.

_He_ loves everything about fiery red. And he expresses it in front of his friends. And classmates. And teachers. And me.

Always me.

_Don't you want to know what I have to say?_ He would whisper to me when he knows I didn't want to listen. I would shake my head, but he'd catch a strand too close to my face and pull me towards him. _I love her,_ He would say and smile, looking for my reaction. I wouldn't give him one.

He would touch my wrist which always accompanied a thin gold band. _I'm going to get a charm for this bracelet,_ He would say.

I would shake my head. This did not go unnoticed by my best friend. She would squint at me with curious eyes and I would pull back into my chair.

_He _would not touch me for the rest of the day.

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**So I think most of you have noticed that each chapter will be similar to this one as well the previous ones. Short clips, almost like a diary; obviously from Bella's perspective.**

**Also another note, I think you've guessed that she relates to everyone by the color of their hair. I don't really remember the reason why I wrote it that way, however, it had something to do with Bella's lack of personal attachment to her friends; using descriptive words rather than their names.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy. More chapters are to come. If you like, feel free to leave a review! Questions? PM me!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

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I sit at out lunch table, my hair acting as its dark curtain against my friends. _Why don't you pull your hair back?_ Voice of honey whispering between the lips that were hidden by her silvery long hair, holding out a hair clip. I take it and smile.

Strands continue to fall in my face, willing themselves to return to their home across my cheek. My best friend, whose chestnut locks holds a binding style against her cheeks, peeks at me underneath her lashes.

We continue our lunch in light conversation.

Allowing myself two excruciatingly short seconds to gaze at _him,_ his feet move hastily across the linoleum which I only then begin to realize that he is leaving.

_Does he even remember how I felt, flush against his chest?_ I silently ask myself as I curl my fingers around my ear. _Does he remember how it felt to have my hot, heaving breaths against the red of his cheeks?_ Plump and heated, they were. I close my eyes upon the memory.

_Did you see that? He smiled over at me,_ Chestnut locks pipes up. She scoops her tray into her small hands and follows the silver hair of her close friend down the line of students who are disposing of their lunches. I follow suit; not will I be the odd man out. _Do not draw attention to yourself,_ I recite. I chant. I scream.

All mentally.

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**Thank you all for your reviews!**

**I know it may be confusing; I promise it will make more sense with chapters to come.**

**Again, thank you for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

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I shoot up in my bed, all hot and bothered, wiping sweat off of my forehead. I can still feel the shock of my dream, wafting throughout my body... but it wavers and wavers... until it's gone. I sigh. The inhale of my breath is sharp.

I lay back down slowly, glancing over to my roommate who is fastened asleep, with her hand beneath her cheek. She looks like a child, with her seaweed bob sprawled across her face.

_He_ was entrapped in my dreams, taking me back to _that_ night and I instantly am filled with blissful pleasure, but also painful stabs. At my heart and chest and brain and eyes. Never will he know how much I am hurt. But I am invisible.

I am not able to go back to sleep even though I try. It's hours I wait in my bed before I decide to get up. I walk over to my desk and turn on my computer. Servers are locked after certain hours; I can't go on the internet.

A grimace surfaces my face as I turn back to my bed.

The night is long.

I don't dream again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

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Days and days and days. _He_ still does not say a word to me. I can tell he still remembers by the lick of his lips when he spots me across the hallway. He rubs his neck as he sees me near the art room. But conversation is not among our normal activities.

Silver hair trots along the hallway next to today's straightened chestnut hair continuing to preach on how adorable the offspring would look with her eyes and _his_ artistic background. This causes red cheeks.

I almost feel bad and smile encouragingly in their direction. I think they don't know. I am almost sure of it. But I have been wrong in the past.

My name is suddenly being called out loud and so I turn to find the culprit. It's not who I suspect and his eyes linger on mine longer than what's comfortable. Just another student, another insignificant other who tells me I have left something behind in the art room.

My pen lays in the same place I had left it since the beginning of the period; I go to retrieve until I sense someone else in the room. My radar piques, as it always does when _he_ is near. _He_ looks at me, wonder casting across his face. It's the first time _he_ has paid me any attention in a very long time.

He does not say anything to me. I am left with no other action than to pick up my pen and leave. I throw him a sideways glance; his messy hair matching his messy clothing. A paint brush held loosely in his hands.

I walk out when I notice fiery red coming down the hallway.

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**Note: I'll be posting two chapters every day, considering they are short.**

**Thanks again for your reviews!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

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I replay the scene in my head, as if it is yesterday. Though it was 6 months ago, I feel as if I can still breathe that same air. I take myself to the other time, where things were not so bad and I was filled with reassurance. At the time, I didn't know it was fake.

..

..

..

I am in _his_ dorm, sitting cross-legged on _his_ bed. I am in my gray tights and over-sized knitted sweater that reaches my knees, standing up. My nearsighted glasses are still on because I like the clarity they give me.

_He_ stands over in the corner, near his ancient PC that gives off a low purr.

_Nothing's right,_ He says. I look up at him and he is looking down at his hands which hold various CD's. I shrug and fall onto my back, letting my head rest at the foot of his bed.

_His_ CD's are important to me, but not right now. Not how he plans to use them later. He told me his plans after he invited me over. _I plan to seduce her tonight,_ He says an hour before I lay on his bed, playing with a loose stitching in my sweater.

He shuffles through his CD's; my conspicuous sighing is obviously not conspicuous enough.

He finally catches my eyes, upside down, and comes over to me. He is hesitant, which is not normal, because we are in closed spaces. He stops two feet away from me and arches a thick eyebrow.

I lick my lips.

_You will not be able to seduce her,_ I say. He arches another eyebrow. I drift my eyes away from his. _You will not be able to seduce her,_ I say again, confidently.

_He_ does not like my response. His face is easy to read as a book and he does not take what I have said into any consideration.

I flip and crawl onto my knees. _You don't believe me?_ I say. My glasses are falling down the bridge of my nose.

_No,_ He simply replies. His gaze leaves mine and returns to his CD's. I huff and scoff.

_She's fiery red; she will seduce you first, before you even have time,_ The words are out of my mouth before my mind has fully processed them.

_His_ face goes white and stares at his CD's; motionless. He finds confusion in my accusation.

_How do you know?_ He finally says. He puts the CD's down on his desk and comes to stand near me now, closer. I can feel his breath on my lips. It coats and warms them like a blanket. I don't move.

_She's fiery red,_ I say and stare into his green irises. They dance along the contours of my face.

_You're dark and wavy and long; can you not seduce me?_ He asks and I gasp. His words hang in the air like cartoon bubbles in comic books.

I settle on my knees, my sweater covering every inch of my skin. Dark tresses of my hair falls in between us creating a barrier. He looks down at me with such an expression that is inexplicable. I know what I want to do and I know what he has asked me, but are they the same?

I'm not a risk taker.

The school's rules flit through my mind, like a slide show behind my eyelids. _But I am in his bed, aren't I?_ I think. _But he doesn't have a roommate, does he?_ I smile. _But he is the most delicious man I have ever laid eyes upon in all my seventeen years, isn't he? _I bite back a groan.

The bed squeaks as I slowly lunge for his face. My hands roughly take his cheeks in my grasp and pull him closer to my level. He kneels on the floor, eye level with my black thin rimmed glasses, as I perch and re-adjust myself on my knees. He stops. My sweater trickles along the material of his comforter.

I hesitate near his face, my breath dancing on his lips. My eyes goes go wide before they re-focus on the crease of his forehead. _His_ nose. The apple of _his_ cheeks. _His_ mouth. Oh God, his mouth.

I yank his mouth onto mine, fitting his lips. My teeth ripping and gnawing at his perfected skin. He winces and groans and hums on my tongue. The sudden feeling of ecstasy is running through my veins and—Sweet mother Mary! His tongue glides along my lower lip, asking permission to enter, if I dare let him. Oh, but I do let him.

I let him have me all; my knuckles close in on the ends of his shirt as I pull him towards me on his bed. His body over laps mine as my sweater hikes up. I am unhappy because his hands are on his comforter. I want them on _me._

My eyes don't focus for they are closed.

My fingers wrap themselves around his, which makes him pull back instantly. From me, from my mouth... he sits on my thighs.

_You don't know what you're doing,_ He states.

_I don't,_ I say calmly and reach for his hands again. He lets me take them.

I entwine my fingers around his, testing it out, liking the feel. I trail up his wrists and to his forearms where I slide up the fabric of his flannel button down. I glide them back down, to his hands, which I take, and put them on me.

_His_ eyes are sparkling, as if seeing something new for the first time. He needs them gently, one by one, feeling each and every curve of me, until I arch my back in a wanton feeling.

My lips finds his again.

I feel like a lioness, a _hunter_.

I am not this role.

I am meek.

I am shy.

I wear glasses.

And knit sweaters.

I do not kiss aggressively, nor do I kiss at all.

But _he_ has stolen my first kiss, and that won't be all.

Reluctance is alien to him, I observe, but _he_ is gentle and kind with his hands. He doesn't like not having control, but _he_ smiles at me as knit cotton floats about my head.

My sweater is placed to the side.

_He _stares at me, he takes me in. My plain bra hangs on me loosely and I bite my lip.

This sets him off.

Like a lion to my lioness stature.

He takes in my appearance greedily. He doesn't want to miss any part of it. A finger runs down my stomach, lightly tracing nondescript creases in my body while gazing up at me. Into my brown eyes, he pouts those delicious lips of his.

_You're beautiful,_ He mouths.

I reach for the end of his under shirt and pull it over his head, as slowly as he did. I let my hands linger on his body, glide up his torso and abs as the shirt lazily makes its way to his head. I toss it to the side.

I look and admire and smile and feel and touch and skim and graze and he lets me.

_I know you,_ I mouth, my lips carving over the words with linguistic fluidity.

His body, flush to mine, breathes easily in my ear. He traces my face with his fingers as if remembering all of me with his touch.

I place kisses along his ears. Our special place. Our first touch.

I kiss the spot behind his ear one, two, three, four times and move to the other with methodical rhythm.

His hands are displayed, all over my body. He grabs at my hips and ribs and knees and neck. He sheds the rest of his clothing.

Our kisses are uncontrollable and out of pure desire. I don't feel alive until my lips meet his and we are joined as one. I have lied to myself, this I realize. I have said I was happy. Repeatedly, I have been telling myself lies.

_This_ is happy. This is _my_ happy.

As quickly as I begin to realize how delectable this feeling is, it abruptly stops. I look up at him with quizzical eyes through my glasses. He is expressionless, yet I'd like to believe he is smirking with his eyes or crookedly smiling with his bruised lips or scrunching his nose in a mimicking way he always does but no... _he_ remains expressionless.

My kisses become lazy as I fall under into an euphoric slumber.

..

..

..


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

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..

..

..

There is a brief moment when you wake up in the morning and you don't know where you are. But as you suddenly drift back into reality, you are immediately comforted by your familiar surroundings that are usually nondescript on average days like your side table lamp, or upturned carpet in the corners.

This is not one of those mornings.

Startled and bolted upright in a bed that is not mine.

A ceiling and hardwood that is not mine.

_He_ appears, crouching down on the floor and flinging articles of clothing onto the bed.

My bra and panties are tangled and distorted on my body under the sheets. I justify myself by looking presentable before getting out of the bed. _His_ bed.

_You need to leave,_ He says and I am not understanding.

_Why?_ I ask and he does not look at me. _Why?_ I ask again. I get out of bed. This causes him to shield his eyes as if he were looking into a bright light. Forgive me, but I am no sun.

I waver next to the dresser where my glasses lay; apparently thrown in the middle of the night.

_Get out,_ He says and I start to tear.

_No, no no,_ I think and he is running around the room with objects in his hands I cannot identify.

I am suddenly being ambushed with more clothing, clothing I recognize like my sweater. I pick it up at my feet.

_Get out!_ He says, louder this time and I am half way out the door with my sweater needed over my head and tights in my hands.

_He_ shuts the door behind me before I am able to gasp for breath.

_Slam!_ Something behind the door falls and crashes and I am frightened and nervous and getting that nail biting feeling that captures me every time I get anxiety.

There is no one out in the hallways, so I walk modestly back to main grounds. I walk with pride pass students who eye with suspicions flitting past their waning eyes and I don't pay attention as my feet step into the wet grass.

_Run, run, run_ back to my dorm, I think, but I keep my composure until I am inside; at least there I know I am safe.

Seaweed bob is not there as I hang onto the door knob for security and throw my stuff to the ground.

I immediately take a shower to wash off the sin I have committed last night.

Words are beaten into my brain as mull over my down comforter. Sin. Lust. Sin. Lust. Joy. Sin. Pleasure. Lust. Sin. Love. Sin. Sin. _Sin..._

But now I feel dirty and the signs around school about public PDA feel sticky on my tongue. What would my best friends say to this indulgence I have admitted to myself?

Curly chestnut's eyes would leak thick and hateful tears if she knew my secrets.

Silvery long's cafeteria kiss would be nothing compared to my provocative events.

With defeat, I slide down the wall of the shower and cry for the first time since my mother had forced me to come to this school.

I'm Wavy dark and I gave my consent.

I have made my bed, must I lie?

..

..

..

6 months later and I am still that girl.

Still that girl that got screwed behind doors; screwed emotionally, physically, mentally.

And still he passes me and pretends to not know me.

I don't know me.

I thought I did, but not anymore.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

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My mother always forgot to send me spending money on the weekends. I soon got a bank account that permitted me money I acquired from my job. But there is no money this week for I had no hours. So there is nothing for me to retrieve. I am left stranded in my room.

When my friends ask me to come along with them to get coffee the next afternoon, I decline coolly and usher back to my bedroom.

Most of the students go off campus on the weekends. I stay in, naturally.

My seaweed bob roommate enters our room momentarily, in a towel. Her skin is glistening olive and jeweled water beads. My pale skin does not compare. I look away.

_Pass me the hair dryer,_ She says and I toss her the object. Seconds later, I'm out of the room and wandering in the hallways.

Absently walking for thirty minutes, I find myself in front of the boy's dormitory and I am tempted to go inside. The last time I was here was when—I push open the door, avoiding making a spectacle out of myself.

I hide behind a corner hallway, finding myself staring down at a group of boys who all have the same hair cut. Except one.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

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There is laughter; guffaws and chortles.

A joke I don't understand the punch line to but apparently it is funny enough for the guys to linger. Five, ten, fifteen minutes they stay outside _his_ door before they bid farewell and walk away.

I almost do too; finding myself to be silly for standing here and so I go to leave. I turn the corner, look back only for the length of a heart beat, and crash into something in front off me. I fall to the ground.

A football lands on the other side of the hall where another boy picks it up, examines it as if _I_ had hurt it and holds onto it. The boy in front of me tugs on my sleeve; he brings me to him with one arm and I am pressed against his chest.

He says he's sorry. He says he's a football maniac and can't help what goes on when he's in the game. He says he likes my hair and face because it reminds him of a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader he likes. He says brown eyes are cool.

He says his name is Emmett.

But he has dark short hair and so that's what I call him.

He also knows my name.

_Bella,_ he breathes, _you are a friend of Edward's._

All the while I stand there, looking at his large stature. I'm not afraid of him, only of what he said. Suddenly _he_ comes up behind me and eyes the boy in front of me. _He_ claps his shoulder and motions him to follow.

Before they leave, I hear _him_ say: _She's not my friend._


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

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My roommate and I are complete opposites. We like to stay up late but other than that, she sticks to her side and I stick to mine.

She's secretive and feisty and raw and _real_ and I feel fictional compared.

Anything that is against the rules, she likes.

The first day I arrived to this school she told me about a party out of town.

She used to tell me all the time about these parties. It seemed as if they were happening every night. But as each invitation was declined, the parties seemed to have been spread further and further apart each week.

Maybe they were still happening every night or maybe she had just stopped mentioning them.

However, my response is still the same.

Today I search my desk; my fingers curl around anonymous papers, flipping and folding and searching until I find the right one.

The six words are written down in scrawl but I can still read it.

I have a taxi come and get me and I read off the six words to him and he seems confused by my attire and my sound of voice and my presence in general but he starts the car anyway and we drive. We drive for a while until we are not driving at all and I am standing on an unfamiliar block.

I follow the sound. Like a dog. I follow.

In a building, there are lights and noise and vibrations; bouncing off the walls of the building, bouncing off the walls in my chest cavity.

I walk in deeper, caressing my middle with my arms, wrapped up in another sweater of mine. I walk straight into the chaos of dancing strangers; they hold their hands up high as their bodies maneuver and wander, grinding and sliding.

The music zips through my spine and I find myself being wafted in. And then I hold my hands up in the air too, with sultry. My body moves with the others, gliding and wrecked, like the others. Hands fall to my waist and I am laughing breathless laughs.

Until midnight strikes. Like Cinderella, I must leave.

But I leave nothing behind; no clues, no indication as to where I was. I'm a mystery in the night.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

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I hate when it rains and I hate when is snows.

I'm not in my room when I look at the window, but it feels like I am back at home in my living room.

My name is being called out again so I refocus my attention on my friends; they are all sitting on the bed with their noses in their books. They crave each word that floats off the page, savoring the details, writing them down in simpler terms in the notepads next to them.

I am not like them. I cannot sit down with a text book and read for hours. Though my grades don't show signs of my poor habits, I cannot concur why this is.

But I sit back on the bed and flip through pages, pretending to be like them. Pretending that acing an exam is the most important thing on my mind.

Silver hair shifts in my peripheral visions, leaving the bed to retreat to her power room. A phone, in which lays next to her pillow, buzzes. It alarms Chestnut hair to the degree where she takes the phone in her hand and flips it over.

_There is someone ringing you, _her voice is dry and unconcerned. But she is nosy and prying and sneaks a look at the screen. My eyes widen in surprise of her actions; I reach for the phone and hiss at her but she pulls back further and off the bed.

Knuckles wrap on the door of the power room.

The phone is now abandoned on the bed.

My eyes go back and forth between the two girls as they argue over secrets and betrayal. For a moment I think they are arguing about me but I know better. This is about Silver hair's Sunday boyfriend.

I am just there for color commentary.

_They_ have been best friends for years. And they will continue to be best friends for years. Even after this argument.

I am always going to be the girl who gets the awkward lone chair at the lunch table for four.

But then they look back to me as if I have something to say, which I don't, and wait until they are done.

Five minutes. They are laying back on the bed. They are okay. They are back to studying. They ask me to sit on the bed with them.

I tell them _No_ and walk out of the room; I won't be the third wheel.

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**Thanks again for all of your reviews!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

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The music they play is not music you hear on the radio. It's all thumps and beats and drums. It gets into your head, into your lungs. It's the not spirits or alcohol making you lose your mind, it's the vibration of the music.

There is graffiti on the walls; the words bounce off and come at you, alive. My eyes follow the room, the dancers, the kissers, the huggers, the biters, the drinkers. They could be anyone; students, teachers, artists, dealers but in this room we are all one. And no one cares.

I like it here.

I like this place.

The paint on the walls frighten me and shout out things to me so I enter the crowd more willingly. The only thing I like about this music is the rhythm and it hums in my mouth; I enter the crowd and play their game.

My body slithers and turns and marvels around the others; dancing like a chant for the sun to never make its peak in the sky.

I spot Seaweed bob in the corner and she is laughing, with her head tilted back. One of those laughs where there is no sound. One of those laughs that make you jealous for not understanding the punch line.

I don't go to her and we don't speak but I know she knows I'm here.

She always knows when I'm here.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

* * *

Fiery red is apart of every organization my school offers. She is a cheerleader; dressed in our skin appropriate outfits of calf length skirts and long sleeved sweaters. Our mascot is an Owl because we are a wise school.

I feel the irony in it more than the other students do.

She is on the honor roll. She is very smart. But it is because her name sits on the list right next to _his_ that makes my throat bubble. Another name is on that list and it starts with a _B_ and every one is befuddled as they point to that name and ask _Who is this?_

She is student council president. A pendant of an anchor bounces against her well endowed chest as she skates around the halls, posting posters of the annual dance we have every year. She is the only one who gets excited about the overly polished dress code and faculty supervised fun.

She is a teacher's assistant in the chem lab because she wants to study medicine when she ventures out into university. If it isn't enough I have to see her in the halls, and lunch time, and practically anywhere else, now I have to see her in the only class I don't have with her. Except, now, I guess I do.

I don't lie when I dub her as Fiery red; her hair is longer than her backside and it is so very red. She says it's natural. Wavy Chestnut today claims it's from a salon but I doubt the girl's matching eyebrows and freckles were chemically enhanced as well.

She's pretty and she giggles and every one fawns over her.

She's intelligent and clever and comes from a wealthy family.

She's skinny and curvy and has amazing skin.

She... is crying in powder room off the East Wing.

Mascara stains her navy blue colored shirt as well as her dignity as she attempts to wipe it off. She sniffles once more and brushes passed me.

I'm left standing in the power room alone.

* * *

**I was going to reveal names in the chapters a little later but I will do it now.**

**Dark and wavy (narrator): Bella**

**Silver hair: Rosalie**

**Chestnut**** hair: Alice**

**Seaweed bob (Bella's roommate): Leah**

**Fiery red: Victoria**

**Rosalie's secret boyfriend: still a secret (:**

**Emmett is explained**

_**He/him**_**: Edward**

**_(Bella is extremely quiet and likes to stay that way. But being very close friends with Edward made her feel important and real. However his constant rejection of her in public made her feel that he was ashamed of her; which was and is roughly portrayed in the story. Now that she slept with Edward, she can't even get him to look at her. Bella finds herself at these abandoned building parties where her roommate always go. She begins this double life, the quiet and meek Bella at school vs. the rough and erratic party goer.)_  
**

**Hopefully that helps for anyone who is confused. Sorry, I thought it was easy to catch on however, that's easy to say for the person who is writing the story! Anyway, your reviews are much appreciated and I hope that you still continue to read!**

**Thank you.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

* * *

I take the train to the next town over. There is a delectable coffee shop that my father took me to before I came to this school.

I go whenever I can.

Their prices are expensive; I have myself a champagne taste on a beer budget.

It's a splurge. A treat.

The continuous rain outside ruins my plans of walking in the park with my latte so I find myself a table near the window and sit there instead.

A bell over the door notifies the shop that another customer has come in. The person is damp and wet and smells of the rain, causing my nose to twitch.

When my name is called over the counter, I get up to retrieve my order. I bump into the man that smells of rain and am instantly whirl winded.

_He_ looks me up and down as if he has never seen me before. Acknowledging my attire, my hair, my lips, my bag, my... everything. He just stares. This exchange doesn't last more than a few seconds.

I am meant to say sorry but I don't.

_Bitch,_ he mutters and pulls away from me.

My name is called again.

My numb hands restrain themselves from reaching out to my order before I ask if I can have it to-go. When my order is then poured into a travel mug, I pay.

I also pause with a lingering thought.

_Excuse me. My boyfriend and I, _I make a pointed look over at the guy with green eyes before continuing, _are expecting a bunch of our friends to meet us here but we want to put in theirs orders now, if you don't mind._

The lady behind the counter nods to me, professionalism lingering on her lips.

I rattle off the most expensive beverages on their menu, counting out a random of 12 orders. As the worker diligently writes out each order on a cup, I sip at my own.

_The charge will go on his tab._

I smile and walk out.

I smile again knowing I racked up his bill over $100.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

* * *

Fiery red is happy as ever the next week.

Her laughter is light and content at the lunch table with all her friends.

But as I stop to remember her bent over stature, her wet eyes and her trembling lip, it makes me realize that not everyone is as one sided as they seem.

And so her name falls from my lips as I pass her by in the hallway.

"Victoria."

It's exactly how I say it that catches her eye; the fact that I said it without a sneer or a sarcastic gesture; I don't call her by her hair color.

She looks back at me and returns my nod.

And then she is gone and I am left in a hallway, staring into vacant green eyes.

_He _was waiting for Victoria at her door. She shimmies her way in and looks to _him_ as if to beckon him inside but _he_ just stands there. Looks at me.

I open my mouth for the second time today and steal polite words from the air.

"Hi." My smile is faint and falters but the feeling of mutual distaste is still present. It's one sided but still there.

Victoria ignores us both and walks inside her room, leaving the door open for _him._

He shifts his gaze to my face, looking at something particular I cannot pick out. Maybe one of the seven freckles on my face, or the absence of my glasses, but it is just a flicker and then it is gone.

He motions into Victoria's room and then is gone.


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

* * *

Our Christmas Ball is coming up and there is a lightness in the air.

We all refer to it as a dance because it is less glamorized than it is made out to be, but the colors are still of silvers and reds and greens and golds and everything just seems so much better because it is Christmas time.

It takes place on the last night before our vacation starts and then we get to go home for the holidays. Some students stay if they prefer to and I _always_ prefer to but my mother never lets me. She says Christmas time is _her_ time; she sets up the house real nice with expensive garland and trimmings, antique ornaments from her childhood and of course, an exquisite and pricey roast dinner.

The only reason I ever wanted to stay was because _he_ stayed but now it is the only reason pushing me to leave.

My friends get ready for the Ball hours ahead and look very pretty in their silver and green dresses. They match very well and have their hair pinned up beautifully. I tell them I'm not going; sitting there in my tights and sweat shirt, watching as they dab themselves with sparkling scented perfume.

But my best friend makes a face then and shakes her head. She gives a look to her best friend and they eye each other with a sly smile before returning to the closet. They pull out a long evening gown. They say it is for me.

Silver hair is sleek back against the face and falls into a waterfall down the back; but the girl's face is bright and her lips part and she gives me a smile as elegant as her name, _Rosalie_.

Rosalie steps forward and hands me the dress.

My cheeky friend with the Chestnut brown hair helps me get ready, curling my hair and papering on blusher.

..

I am in black.

No one else wears blacks. So I stand out.

Victoria is in white which stands for purity.

Rosalie is in sliver because her hair wouldn't have had it any other way.

Alice, who has her chestnut hair up in a ballerina bun is in green. Green with envy, green as the earth.

No one wears black.

I am aware of this once more.

The West Wing of my boarding school has marble floors and poinsettias lining the massive stair case. It is the biggest Wing in our school and most equipped for housing a Ball.

Students make their entrances down the staircase, causing breathy teenagers to capture their attention. I come in through the side, absently falling under the rules of restriction but I am unaware of it and come face to face (or face_s_) with a massive crowd.

They all gaze and look and wonder but it's green eyes that have me hitching my breath.

The music plays and every one scatters. All but one.

And he bites his bottom lip so tenderly. It makes my skin crawl.


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

* * *

It's unlikely to know what people are thinking. Sometimes it's their body language that give them away, or an expression that is undoubtedly legible.

But it begs to differ when you're are searching for something and there is nothing to be received. I had searched for an expression but it was vacant. I had searched for a flighty movement of the body but it was still. I had searched for a gasp of breath or a squint of the eye or a sniffle of the nose or acknowledgment in the face but I had received nothing.

Nothing.

Now Edward stands there looking so pale; it's only until one of our professors gestures him along with the others and they clear the room.

Tables are brought out with food. It's all food that requires silverware and a table to sit at. They don't realize that students want finger food and juice but our school wants to stay classy so we have an hour at our tables dedicated to the appropriate time to eat.

The food is color appropriate with the event but it just makes my stomach curdle. I wait out the hour at a table with my friends, watching them as they watch me not eat the food. We drink the sparkling grape juice though. We drink it a lot. We fill up on it. It makes us feel light.

Soon there is music and dancing and the students wave their hands in the air in a different way than in those abandoned building parties. They laugh a different way and they dance a different way and there is no graffiti on the walls.

The guy with the once football clutched to his chest now has a flower stitched to his pocket. He comes to my table and takes me by the hand. I go along, my toes following his step.

And we twirl. Or rather, he twirls me and I'm spinning and I find myself laughing. Emmett is large and my shoulders barely reach his chest but when he speaks to be he bends down to my ear. He may pose as question mark beside me but he whispers nice things to me and we laugh some more.

Then _he's_ there and he's twirling Victoria.

Then _he's_ sitting at the table with that crooked twist on his lips.

Then _he's_ near the staircase with sparkling grape juice and he's talking with a friend.

_He's_ always near and he's every where around me and he's eyeing me now.

He doesn't know it but he makes me feel important.

Only this time I don't want to feel this way.

Not from him.

Not ever.


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

* * *

It starts to snow and that makes everyone happy. The large floor to ceiling windows display the perfect winter night, 3 days before Christmas Eve.

The music they play is instrumental only and it sets a gratifying and pleasing mood throughout the main hall. I stare out the window as bullets of snow plummet to the ground. The sun is down.

_You're wearing black, _a voice says from behind. I not need to turn around for I know whose face it belongs to.

_To match your black heart,_ I whisper back, without turning. But he makes me turn, without touching me or pleading; the magnetic pull we have with our bodies is not something I easily praise. It _owns_ me. I turn to him because to not would physically hurt me.

His eyes dance along my face again, searching for that something I'm not sure I can give him. He's in black as well, although it's traditional for the men. Many other men on the dance floor share this outfit, smile it in, but they are not black on the inside. They are not cold, they are not dark.

Only Edward is.

He pauses. "Can I have a dance?"

My eyebrow rises in question. "Are you sure you're not embarrassed to be seen with me?"

"No." He says this with a brusque voice. I feel he is unsure but his face proves otherwise. He grabs my hand without my acceptance.

And we are twirling too but his height is more appropriate to mine. More form fitting. Our bodies mold together well.

"Are you here alone?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No."

"No?"

"No."

"Who are you here with?"

"My friends."

He buries his teeth into his bottom lip. "I see."

We twirl.

We step beside each other.

We remain quite. I think about the other day in the coffee shop; I wonder what he must be thinking.

"Are you here alone?" I ask.

"No."

"No? Are you not here with Victoria?"

"I came alone."

We spin.

"Are you not here with Emmett?"

I look up at him, my curious eyes studying his face. It surprises me that there is so much more to look at since at one time I have believed to have known every plane, every contour of his face. It is a stranger to me now.

He meets my eye but it is not forgiving. It's a cruel look and then I am reminded of why he's not mine.

"You're jealous."

And for the first time tonight he looks taken aback; he is not prepared to answer my question.

"No."

"But you are, aren't you?" I step away from his grasp on my waist. I stop in the middle of the dance floor.

"It's the only reason you are here, with me, right now. Isn't it?"

Edward comes to me again; reaches for me and holds me to him. I am pressed against his chest as he whispers in my ear: "He doesn't want you."

"And you do?" I ask with anger rising in my throat.

He doesn't answer me. He looks down at my watering eyes but not a word leaks from those supple lips.

Edward lets go of me then and I take off. I bunch up my dress in my hands and push pass him.

He lets me go.

But not too far; our magnetic pull doesn't allow me.


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's notes: **_I just wanted to put this in the beginning and say real quickly that I am so gracious to everyone for reviewing! You guys make this story a pleasure to write. I also want to mention that now that the chapters are becoming more lengthy, I'm going to start waning down to maybe a chapter every couple of days or so._

_More to come. More angst, more dialogue, more secrets, but definitely more secrets revealed! _

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

* * *

You think you're strong.

You think you have a control on things because your mind tells you you've overcome it.

I thought I overcame Edward.

But I'm bitter and sadistic and my mind is telling me no.

After the Ball, I don't see Edward again.

Christmas break is as it always is, complacent and self-satisfying and I am less surprised when my mother brings out the large turkey dinner and there are only two place mats instead of three. My father uses every excuse to veer from an event where he must show civility to my mother. I'm guessing while I'm away, they are either fighting or not talking.

But my mother puts up a good show and my father does a fair job of hiding that fact that he's been sleeping in the guest bedroom.

I eye the vacant spot at the head of the table. "Work, honey." My mother reassures me, smiling with her veneers. _Crime never takes a vacation day, Sweetie,_ was my mother's last excuse.

A strange ambiance floats around the house along the next week and it's only until later in my room that I realize it's excruciatingly quiet. My house was never this quiet, not once since I was a child.

Considering I only live here in the summers now, I suppose it was easy for normal to drift away for a little while because I wouldn't notice.

I notice now.

I hide my body behind the balusters of the stair case, taking a seat on a step while I listen in on my mother in the kitchen. Nothing. Silence.

I sit longer. I can see her sitting alone drinking wine from the bottle, figuring that she has abandoned her glass long ago.

My father was the handsome one in school. Every girl fell for him. It's hard for me to believe this because he is my father and I will only ever see him as the man with the mustache, watching sports games in Hush Puppy slippers.

But my mother fell for him too, and he was able to treat her sort of shitty and mediocre because she lived on the rush and was happy that a man like Charlie wanted her.

And now they don't talk.

No matter how many times we claim we don't and we won't end up like our parents, we inevitably do because we are programmed to.

And I let Edward treat me badly because I was happy that any guy wanted me.

And now _we_ don't talk.


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

* * *

I am lucky enough to come back from vacation before a large snow storm hits.

It's so strong that the electricity goes out. No classes. That's great.

But the _electricity goes out_. That's not great.

I sit there in my room, on my bed, in my large knitted sweater with memories in the stitches. It's dark and late and quiet and I'm afraid someone is going to come banging on the door. I'm not sure of this fear or quite understand its origin but I lock myself inside my room anyway.

The moon outside is the only light I have; it casts off its glow into my room, creating a shadow from my window.

Alice asked me today about Edward.

She wondered why I had danced with him. If he asked me or if I had asked him. What did he say to me. Why I ran off. Did he say anything else, perhaps about her.

She was nonchalant and made a great deal of effort to come off noncommittal but the pure anxiety she wore came out right on her sleeve like perfume. I could smell the desperation hanging off her questions.

_No, Alice._

_ He asked me, Alice._

_ He didn't say much to me, Alice._

_ I left something in my room, Alice._

_ I'm not upset, Alice. Really, I'm not._

Satisfied and unaware of the mask I had been wearing, she had walked off.

Alice loves him. I know that. I do. But her love is unrealistic and problematic for she doesn't really ever know what she wants. She thinks she knows him, loves him, wants him. But she's wrong. If she knew him, she wouldn't want him.

Then why do I?

I sit there longer until the shadows have taken over and there is no light to be shed. I slip off my bed, out the door and down the hall. At first I wander aimlessly, but subconsciously I know where my feet are taking me.

His room is unlocked. It's always unlocked.

There is a quick second of inner turmoil; my mind flutters with one fear until a noise from inside eliminates it. I lose my focus. I open the door.

Through the shadows, he's there on his bed. The glow from his laptop screen shines on his face and it's the only thing I can see in the room. Even then, I appreciate the clean contours and masculine shapes of his face . Like a god.

He looks up at me then and there is no surprise on his face.

I tilt my head in question.

"I knew you would come to me."

"No, you didn't."

We star at each other from afar; his eyes go dark as he places his laptop on his bed.

My back is against his door, my hands behind me on the knob. I can escape if I want to, I tell myself. It will be easy. Just open the door and leave. It seems easy, like a simple task but my body won't allow me to move.

Edward stays where he is on the bed. I stay where I am at the door.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

It leaks from my lips like the forbidden words they are. My heart quickens in pace.

In the night, I seem him shift on his bed.

"I don't."

I shake my head. "You do." It is fact. It is truth. I don't allow anything else.

However, it's sudden and quick and he is in front of me and I can't see him but I don't want to. But I can _feel_ him. The heat emanating off his body.

He lowers himself to me with his palms to my cheek. "I don't." His answer is firm and ingrains itself inside me.

"You're cruel to me."

His lips begin brush my ear.

"You make fun of me in front of your friends."

He dabbles on my neck with a feather touch.

I find it harder to continue but I do.

"You ask me to dance... and..."

He pauses at my jaw, inching up my face. "And what do you want from me?" I can feel him say this against my mouth, his breath swirling between us.

I look up at him, assuming I am looking into his eyes and inhale sharply. "Nothing."

Then he is quiet.

I can hear the snow outside, covering the pane of the glass with its docile like structure. I can hear his computer humming from the bed. I can hear my heartbeat, thumping at an abnormal rate. But I can't hear my own mind scream at me, telling me to run.

His presses his lips once to me and then no more.

I don't let him.

"Nothing," I repeat again because I think he hasn't heard me. But he has because when he pulls back, I can make out some of his face and it is pale white. His eyes are of evergreen, shooting me a look of distress; it's alien to me.

My words are nothing but a whisper now. "I don't want you."

Oh, but I so do. But I shouldn't. I hate myself for it but there will never be a day where I don't want him.

Never an hour.

Never a minute.

Never a second where I don't want his lips on mine, or his hand in mine, or his presence near mine.

There will never be a time where Edward Cullen doesn't mean something to me.

* * *

**Such lovely reviews from such lovely people!**

**Thank you so much for the ones who have stuck with the story and for the new ones who have come across it only recently.**

**You're patience is much appreciated as I know this story can be quite angsty and frustrating. However, I can assure you can abide for a little longer :) Will be updating very soon.**


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

* * *

I once went to Rosalie's house for dinner with her family.

Silver hair; everyone of them. Except for one.

Her old sister, Irina, with the golden dark locks curled her fingers around my arm and pulled me into her room along with her sister. She sat us down and we talked about things girls usually talked about.

Irina leaned in close to Rosalie and I, whispering secrets and forbidden lush that made our cheeks go pink because we were too young at the time to think that was stuff was permissible.

_Don't let him treat you anything less than gold. One speck of silver, and he's gone. Got that? You're platinum, babe._

But I'm not platinum, am I? Not now.

_"I don't want you."_

He blinks at me and it's completely nondescript but I know he has nothing to say.

His hands roaming at my sides have stopped. Stopped at my waist where his tight grip has loosened until it is as if they are not there at all. Toe to toe, Edward is still so close to me. He hovers over me, encases me, while my hands are still on the knob to his room.

Caliginous and quiet, we stand alone.

"Who is it that you want? Emmett?"

I shake my head.

"Who is it, then?"

"No one."

He stops. He pulls me to his stomach, ripping hands from the door knob.

"You're a funny girl, Isabella Swan."

His tongue brushes over his bottom lip before leans forward to kiss me. I don't stop him.

It's warm and inviting and toe curling and once he becomes more forceful, I can't even think of another adjective to describe it.

Hands are pressing into my back, sliding down to my thighs where he hitches me up around him. My back is against the door.

I let him have his way, curling his lips over mine, his tongue exploring the soft ranges of my mouth. The door knob is pressing into my hip as his erection is pressing into my stomach but I welcome the pain. Like an old friend. Possibly better.

He's smiling into the kiss. I bite his lips to stop him from doing so.

His breath hitches and he's think he's won, hovering over his prize as if to claim his property. Homed in his embrace, he think' he's captured me. But he's wrong.

I climb down from him and pull apart.

With breathy kisses and flighty movements and a lustful gasp, I mumble against his mouth so effortlessly.

"No, you're the funny one, Edward Cullen."

My fingers stroke his jawline.

"You're the one who wants _me_."

My fingers draw down his chest, abdomen, and linger around his waist band before stroking his erection.

"And you can't stand it." I hiss into his neck.

With the solid ground beneath my feet again, I back away from him and to the door where the darkness continues even when I let myself out.

No one sees me in the hallway or across the courtyard or even back when I'm my own building.

No one sees me.

Maybe that's a good thing.

They never see me coming; they never see my strength.

* * *

**Doing a small Q&A for _Lies_; just answering some of the few highly asked questions, that's all. Nothing major. But message me/leave a review if you have a question that's taunting you!**


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

* * *

It's funny what you start to notice when you stop focusing on yourself; start paying attention to the things around you.

My roommate does this thing late at night where she grabs a small, composition notebook out of her side drawer and sits on her bed. In the dark, she reads and cries and silently whimpers into the worn out pages of what I know to be secret.

An old journal, possibly not even hers, or possibly blank, I will never know but I do know that it brings on more tears than I have ever seen my roommate emote.

And that is what I saw when I started looking.

_Really_ looking.

I see my best friend counting quarters in the lunch line and the worker's sour face as she hands her the large chunk of change.

I see Rosalie's odd preference to sit on the floor of her bedroom instead of a piece of furniture; a photo on her dresser taken of her family in their living room, swarming with adults and kids, and there too, Rosalie sitting on the floor, allowing others to sit before her.

But most of all, I think I see myself falling behind because I allow it to be so, not because my friends let it happen.

Not because my parents let it happen.

And not because Edward let it happen.

In the end, Leah still picks up her notebook and buries it back in her drawer and leaves the room. Alice still allows a smile to complete her face as she makes her way to the lunch table. Rosalie still offers me her bed without a second thought.

I'm still not sure what I am doing.

..

I carry on with things as I should.

Edward continues not to talk to me and I continue not to care.

Leah continues to go out to parties and my friends continue to go about increasing their grades in extra credit formatting.

We all continue on as we always do.

It is quite boring.

As always.

We are back to the beginning again.

* * *

**Sorry for the long wait on the update! I returned to university only a couple of weeks ago and am already buried in work. But anyway, I still looked over your questions. I answered some of the most asked questions about _Lies._**

_**Do you imagine R. Pattinson and K. Stewart when writing for Bella & Edward?**_

_Generally, yes, I do._

**_How old is Bella? Edward?_**

_Bella and Edward are both seniors; eighteen, as it is in the original books (Twilight Saga) when B is a senior. Obviously E not being a vampire in _Lies_ he ages just as B does._

**_How many chapters will _Lies_ be?_**

_I haven't really decided yet. It's hard for me to say, but I think it's near the half way point._

**_Will there be a HEA?_**

_No. Yes. Maybe?_

**Thanks again for your reviews! Next update will be coming very soon, I promise.**


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

* * *

Spring approaches gradually, and then all at once.

The buzz around the building isn't just from bees and blooming insects but the students as they file out of their classes. Everyone is excited about going home for Spring Break but I feel indifferent. Not to the weather, though. It's warm and inviting and I smile into the sky as I walk around in my weekend clothes. The sun is just hot enough to spark a little red coloring on my shoulders as I make my way outside.

Emmett has had a smile on his face for the past couple of days now. He had found a stray kitten not too long ago in one of our perfectly groomed bushes behind the school. He strokes the kitten's fur now on the back steps of the Wing E building.

I make my way up to him, sifting through some old mail I finally got around to.

The gray kitten perks its ears up as if sensing my presence. It notices before Emmett does and then he smiles to me.

"I think it wants you," he says, offering the gray kitten up to me.

"No," I reply back with a shake of my head. "Hate cats."

"Even cute, little ones like Fox?"

"You named it?" I ask.

"Yeah so?"

"Don't you get attached to it once you give it a name?"

His shrug is heavy and he moves on to a new subject. As he does, he strokes Fox's soft fur behind the ears.

"When are you leaving for Spring Break?"

"I'm not."

"Why?"

"I'm staying here while my mom visits her parents down south."

"Oh. Edward is staying too."

I know this. But Emmett says it out of nonchalance, not that he think it will mean anything to me.

His eyes waiver to mine.

"Since you will be here for a week, would you mind caring for Fox? I can't take her home; Ma's allergic."

I stand up and shake my head, peeling my letters off the steps as I do. "No. No animals on campus, I could get in trouble."

"It's not like anyone's going to be here this week. Please?"

"No."

I meant it when I said 'no'.

No, I didn't want to take care of the cat.

No, I didn't want to stay here with it for a whole week.

And no, I didn't want to get in trouble.

But as the gray kitten trolls around on my comforter, I watch from my computer desk and ask myself when I had said 'yes'.

"Okay, little guy, it's just you and me."

It hisses at me.

"That's right; you're a girl.

..

The school is eerie when it is not filled with students. Even at night, when I had more than a few times sneaked around the halls, even though I couldn't see them I could sense the heartbeats of my fellow students. Now, I don't sense anything.

The walls are hollow.

The rooms are empty.

Except for two. Or at least, the only two I know of.

Every morning and every night it is just the small cat and I and we get along well. I discover after the first couple of times of kicking her off from my bed that she gets right back on; she will continue to do so until I leave her alone and so I do.

I mostly spend the days inside my room or walking to the closest coffee shop because I don't have a car. Sometimes I stay outside because the warmth invites me out; I sit behind Wing E where Emmett sits with Fox in order to avoid conflict.

She sits on my lap and is calm and we wade through the days together like this.

I usually take her with me wherever I can go that won't involve other people so I think it's okay to bring her along while I do my laundry. But whatever I think is a good idea is actually a bad idea and that's exactly what I scream at myself when Fox jumps from my laundry basket and runs away from me.

She escapes through the back door and I am shouting at her to come back.

My yelling scares her and so she puts as much distance between us as possible until I can't see her at all.

And then I am crying.

Crying until I bump into something.

Not something, but _someone_ and then there are hands at my shoulders.

"Are you okay?"

It's the first sane question I've been asked all week and I don't know what to say or who to say it to because tears are pouring down my face. Embedding themselves into the sleeves that come up to wipe my face.

"Bella?"

And then I am completely aware.

* * *

**No, your eyes do not deceive you. This update is real, like I promised!**

**Thank you to all who review; but please _do_ review for those who read. Reviews are what makes this story keep going!**

**I also strongly suggest listening to Marina and the Diamond's song _Lies (preferably the acoustic version),_ in which this story was inspired. It is an amazing song, one of my personal favorites, and think it's a great way to connect to this story.**


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

* * *

His eyes are dark and cold and tired and look down at me, trying to give off warmth. But his skin is cold and I want to back away from him, only I can't.

When I continue to ignore his question, he doesn't ask me again. He only waits a little longer.

Through the controlled sobs and sniffles, I point to the creaky back door.

In that moment, I tell him everything; I tell him about Fox and how I am taking care of her, how _well_ I _have_ been taking care of her until she ran off and now I can't find her.

And I repeat again how _I can't find her_ and he looks down at me again with such seriousness that it scares me when he goes quiet and doesn't say anything at all.

_But we _will _find her,_ his whispered words are tickling my ear drum as we walk out back, passed the gardened bushes.

We walk around for an hour, scoping out the whole property until we result to Edward's Jeep where we search even harder. Scan more securely and skim ever so meticulously until there is nothing left to scan or skim or search.

And then I am overpowered by the feeling that everything I have in my possession leaves me and a hyperventilation of huffs and puffs and breathy gasps escapes my throat, causing Edward to pull off to the side of the road.

This whole time of feeling _everything_ and crying out _nothing_ hurts me the most because I am experiencing it now. I cry for every time I was hurt by my friends. Every time I was hurt by my parents. And every time I was hurt by Edward.

Especially Edward.

And it hurts to be in the car with him but I don't want him to leave.

I want to find Fox and go home.

In time, though, we spot her no more than a half mile up the road from our school; she is whining on the side of the road, crying similar cries to my own.

I scoop her up in my arms and put her on my lap and she sleeps the whole ride back.

Edward looks over at me, as if expecting more emotional drive from me but I have nothing left to give.

Every day I gave to him; I gave everything to everyone and every morning I would wake up with nothing. People said I love too much. Maybe there were right.

"You've stopped crying." It's not a question.

I look over at him now, my eyelashes spiked from dried tears.

I don't give him anything, and in return I have a ball of small fluff on my lap and though it's not much, it is enough to get me back to our school.

Where eventually, Fox and I would pass out on Edward's bed.

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**Thank you all who have reviewed! But keep on reviewing! It's challenging when I have to balance school work and update this story and it's not a lot of fun when there aren't many reviews. Reviews = updates!**


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

* * *

No one should ever have to be drunk to love another. That's not the bed time story mothers tell their daughters.

And I don't really forgive people; I just pretend every thing is okay.

..

"Whose cat is that?"

"Not mine."

"Obviously. You hate cats."

There is a pause; I blink at him twice.

"I'm taking care of it for a friend."

He does not push for more information as I would have if the situation were reversed.

I had awoken on his bed not too long ago, confused and dazed and in a strange panic to pick up my belongings and leave. But he stared at the wall from across the room, at his desk with his laptop open. He typed away at it, breaking off into odd patterns of staring off into the space above his window; not really noticing my awaken status.

He pounded at the keyboard as if he was mad at it. Or something.

He stares at me now, while I stroke Fox's back fur; she rumbles and purrs in her sleep.

I'm am sitting awkwardly on a bed I have sat on so many times with familiarity.

We don't talk again and Edward goes back to typing at his computer. My curiosity stumbles into nosiness but I don't move from my spot. I crane my head a little but he has the screen faded and so I can't make out what he is doing.

He notices and turns to me.

I don't lie to myself; I still feel a pull every time I look at him. His remarkable appearance is still the same it has always been, even in the beginning. His sharp features molded underneath the stubble of his 4 o'clock shadow can still make me purr like the small kitten in my hands.

I lift my glasses over my head and curl my legs underneath me. I'm not quite sure why I am still here, why Edward has me in his room if his intention is to not pay me any attention and so I feel obligated to leave.

Fox's ears perk up in recognition in the shift of the bed. She is then suddenly at hip, crawling up the length of my torso for attention until I scoop her up and head for the door. My hand is on the knob when turns in his chair.

"Why are you here?"

"I'm leaving."

"No. I meant, why aren't you home?"

I drop my hand from the knob.

"Why don't you _ever_ go home?"

His mouth twists. "You didn't answer my question."

"My mom is visiting her parents and is not at the house."

"We both have parents who don't like to see us."

Finally looking up at him for the first time, I can see pain hit his eyes. He's beautiful and comely and even a bit stark but it is hidden underneath a new layer of torment.

I shake my head at him.

"You're wrong."

"Really? Tell me about your father, then."

"You don't know anything about my family."

"Sure I do."

"I don't remember telling you."

Edward gets up from his chair. My eyes follow him as he moves around the room. It is only until we are toe to toe does he speak again.

"Doesn't surprise me. We were drunk when you told me about your cheating father and your overbearing mother."

I slap him hard across the cheek.

I leave without another word from him.

* * *

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	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

* * *

_"Do you love me?"_

_ "No."_

_ He takes another sip straight from the Grey Goose bottle. He holds it by the neck and tips it down his throat until he's had his share._

_ "And now?"_

_ He shakes his head._

_ I roll over onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. It's dark in the room; the lights are off and the clock ticks audibly from the dresser._

_ "What are your parents like?"_

_ My head rolls to the side; he looks at me, reaching over with his fingers curling around my waist. He brings me closer to his chest._

_ I think he is going to kiss me; kiss me like he always does in the dark._

_ Instead, he takes another long drink from the bottle._

..

I am up for the rest of the night because I cannot fall back to sleep. Usually this happens when I have a nightmare.

It's 3:30 in the morning.

I ruffle through Leah's drawer and find an address written in scrawl; it's of an apartment building. I've been there before.

I grab my purse and leave.

In the night, I hall for a cab.

And he takes me to the city of dreams. City of cries; where the graffiti covers the walls and I can be anything I want.

The city of faceless people.

..

I start thinking of my days as in pages, my weeks as chapters in a book. Each page I get through, every chapter I complete I am just that much closer to the ending of the book.

This book being my life, or my time here at school, or just the days until I get over Edward, I'm just not sure of. Thinking of it in my head, however, it sounds morbid and depressing and usually the reason why I never share my feelings with my friends.

But it's easy to fake laugh and put on a cheeky smile because Alice doesn't know the difference.

I see Edward talking with her today and I remember how it used to make me jealous but now it only makes me cautious. He doesn't flirt with her, or taunt her middle with tickles of his fingers. He doesn't touch her hair nor sprinkle the conversation with his sarcastic comments.

He merely asks her about a history assignment and then leaves. Before doing so, he throws me a look of acknowledge and then passes by me. Alice doesn't notice that his arm brushes up against my own.

I don't either until my arm is stinging for the rest of the day.

..

Emmett takes Fox back and I having an uneasy time letting her go. He obviously realizes I have become attached and I don't bother hiding it either. But Emmett thinks it's cute and an _attractive _quality so lets me come to his room every now and then to visit with her.

I still sneak around campus into the guy's dormitory just as I had with Edward because the schools rules are still just as strict as they were in the beginning of the year. Although, Emmett has a hard time convincing his roommate not to tell the first school authority figure about my visits. Emmett had even a harder time convincing Royce that the crying and meowing in his sock drawer was 'no big deal'.

But Royce looks to me as I look to him and we both know his secret and so he sits on his bed quietly while I allow the gray kitten to curl up in my arms.

So the three of us do this same routine for weeks until Royce leaves to go off and do studying in the library which only I know is not true and then it is just Emmett and I.

We talk, well _I_ talk and he listens and I begin to notice that I have never had anyone just _listen_ to what I had to say before and I like it. I like it a lot.

But I also notice that I tell Emmett_ a lot_ of things but they are never that important or vital to my life.

That I tell Edward so _little_ about my life, however these small things are what make up who I am.

And that I will never have the same relationship with Emmett as I do with Edward.

Rosalie comes up in the conversation frequently. The more topics we breech, the more her name gets thrown in and the more aware I become of how much he likes her. How much he probably wishes it was Rosalie sitting here with Fox instead of me.

But then Emmett shakes his head and passively says that he loves me; platonic love.

The answer to a question I never asked outwardly, although not the least bit discomforting.

I wish it is as easy for others to love me the way Emmett does. But this is life and not everyone loves everyone.

..

On my way back to my dorm I pass Royce and he has lipstick residue near his mouth. I tell him this and he quickly rubs it off with the sleeve of his arm.

We say nothing else.


	31. Chapter 31

**Author's note:** _In honor of Halloween, and my birthday!, I made time to post (: Thank you all for your patience with this story; you are amazing!_

**Disclaimer:** _Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't._

* * *

Victoria and I are paired up for a stupid game in our economics class.

We the smartest ones in the class and we answer all the questions correctly. It is an odd satisfaction between the two of us but neither of us say a word as we leave the classroom with Tootsie rolls in our hands as prizes.

She follows behind me just a few steps back until I can feel her hesitation linger when I start for the girls Wing dormitory.

"Bella!"

Victoria is a few short feet away from me when I turn around but closes the space quickly. That pendant of hers still bounces against her chest as she makes her way to me; she's nibbling on her index finger.

She contemplates her question before asking: "Do you want to sit together at lunch?"

I say "Okay."

..

I learn Victoria is a chatterbox. Either she is nervous or she likes the attention on her, I'm never really sure but I don't really get a word in edge wise. Not that I want to contribute to the conversation as I don't know anything about long boarding or foot volley. Apparently she misses California and all their water sports.

But then she brings up something about a guy she has been seeing and my interest is peaked.

I listen for certain attributes that would stand out more than others like the color of his eyes, or his body physique, or better yet just a damn name but Victoria doesn't give the details. I can tell she is stringing me along considering she just gave me every single detail about how a 'foot volley' works but it's all about generality when it comes to this guy.

She speaks of him highly, but in hushed voice. Her eyelashes sparkle and curl and hide her smiling eyes away from me so I can't see.

"... and he's just super secretive but whenever I'm with him, I feel so... whole. Like he knows me, _really_ knows me. Well, he should. I mean, we've slept together. Oh..." She looks to me and genuinely seems embarrassed by what she has said. "I wasn't supposed to say that... campus rules..."

I shake my head. "It's fine."

It's fine because the only thing I can concentrate on now is not throwing up my food.

"Did I say something wrong?"

The look in her eye makes me fully aware of the fact that Victoria is smart. Not just book smart, but smart when it came to playing games and I should have known better. _We did win in class today after all._

She doesn't say Edward's name because she thinks I will automatically assume she is talking about him. And she is right.

When the bell rings, I am left with a sour feeling in my stomach and I end up throwing up when I'm back in my room.

..

Edward is stoic the next few days and when the weekend approaches, he's not even at school.

Apparently he went home for the weekend. A rarity.

I am playing with Fox on Emmett's bed, waiting for him to get back from class. Royce sits awkwardly at his computer, having a mental debate on whether or not he should talk to me. I give him a small smile every time he looks over at me, but he backs down immediately and continues to flips through one of his text books.

Emmett then comes in, tossing his back pack onto the floor next to the bed. It startles Fox for a moment until I wrap her tighter in my arms and she settles.

"Bad news. Cullen's dad died."

I am stunned. "What?"

Royce looks over to me and then Emmett, clamping his book shut.

"Yeah. He had a heart attack on Wednesday; was in the hospital for a while, but passed Thursday night. Edward went back home for the weekend for the funeral. Man, it's bad."

I drop Fox on the bed and scoot to the side of the bed.

"How so?"

Emmett's hand reaches to the back of his neck, looking from his roommate to me. He shrugs his shoulder. "I don't know. I mean, Edward doesn't talk a lot about his family but I guess it wasn't much of a surprise. Cullen's dad was in real bad shape for the past year or so..."

I remain quiet as Royce and Emmett further discuss it.

"... had heart disease..."

"... really?... Shame."

"... sister is a wreck..."

"... very young, crazy."

"... funeral is going to take place not too far from the school, actually."

"What?"

Emmett and Royce look up at me then.

"What did you say?" I ask more directly.

Emmett opens his laptop and it hums idly on his lap. "I think the funeral is going to take place not too far from here. The next town over, possibly."

I think of the expensive coffee shop I went to where I racked up Edward's bill. I remember the old funeral home I had past; the bricks of rusted red, the old styled paned windows, the dark cloud permanently surfacing the sky around the building.

"It's going to take place Sunday."

Fox paws at my shoelace but I don't pay attention.

..

It is raining heavily.

The rain uproots the grass and puddles swarm the lawn of the old funeral parlor.

I sit in Rose's old Toyota that she let me borrow.

I thought about going inside but I realized I didn't have the courage to. That's when I realized how soft I was.

Soft and useless.

But I am dressed in all black, appropriate to the theme of the black day.

The service started not too long ago but the main doors open and only one person walks out. They walk out into the pouring rain and are instantly soaked from head to toe.

This person I spot so easily because it is my heart rate that increases first before I even speak his name. He walks out in the middle of the parking lot, puts his hands on his knees and stays like that for sometime.

He may be crying, but I'm not sure for the rain splatters make it hard to judge. I pull up next to him and his face is an expression I have never seen before.

"Edward." I say it once.

He gets in through the passenger's side, closes the door, and drips of water. He doesn't look up at me; just sits and waits.

The heater is going and rain is hitting the roof and my heart is thumping yet he remains still.

"Drive," he says.

"Where?" I ask because I don't know.

"I don't care."

And so I drive.

..

I take him to the fancy coffee shop because it is the only place I know in this town. I order him something warm and soothing off the menu and then get a black coffee for myself. The rain has stopped by then so I take him to the park to walk in his half buttoned suit and tie.

He drinks his drink and I drink mine, side by side, wet to dry, without saying a word.

Edward stops at the large pond and just stares. I stand there with him but my eyes are not on the view. Not the landscape view, anyways.

But his anger builds and all of a sudden he's throwing his empty cup in an outrage across the open field. It nearly lands in the water, hitting the mossy area of the shrubs. His hands find his hair and he's crouching on the ground.

I stand there looking confused for I don't know what to do.

Only until I think of my grandmother and what she used to do when she found me crying over my parents fighting.

I gently reach down to touch Edward's hair and stroke it. Behind his ear, around the back of his neck, down his scalp gently, I rub his hair with a feather touch.

And then I can feel his body relax until he his leaning into me, with his head at my stomach.

We stay like that for a little while and I can hear his shallow breathing start to break.

He eventually stands up and gathers himself. His eyes are dry because his cries were empty, nothing but shouts of anger. Regardless, he doesn't look at me. He makes an attempt to stroke my wrist but almost like a reflect—maybe even my sub conscious—I lift my coffee cup to my mouth to drink from it. He retreats his hand even before my rejection which puts us in an awkward place.

He still doesn't look to me.

"Let's go."

"Where?"

"Anywhere."

And so we go.

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**Thank you all once again for being amazing followers of the story! Love you all.**

**Happy Halloween :)**


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